


i knew you were trouble

by mimizans



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, F/F, Off-screen Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-07 10:19:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimizans/pseuds/mimizans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel knows that drinking with clients is against every rule in the book. Kurt has said it a million times: you drink with a client and you get sloppy, you lose focus, you get emotionally involved. A glass of scotch is the quickest way to losing sight of your assignment. </p>
<p>When a woman walks in wearing a slinky white dress and a tomcat smile, Rachel’s fingers tremble as she opens a bottle of Glenfiddich. She's in a bad way, and there's no denying it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i knew you were trouble

Santana Hudson sits across the desk from Rachel, dry-eyed and red-lipped. “My husband recently met a rather gruesome end, and I’m in a difficult position,” she tells Rachel with a dark smile, “because it’s widely known that he and I didn’t get along. I doubt anyone would be surprised if I did kill him.”

Rachel sips her drink and drags her eyes away from the soft curve of Santana’s neck. “But you didn’t, is that right, Mrs. Hudson?”

“Just call me Santana,” she says, waving a dismissive hand. “And no, I didn’t kill my husband. I was home alone at the time of the murder, but there’s no one to corroborate my story.” She smirks. “No one that I’d wish to expose to police questioning, anyway.”

Rachel swallows a gulp of scotch too quickly. It burns on the way down and she almost chokes. “So,” she says, clearing her throat as delicately as she can, “you’d like me to uncover the identity of your husband’s killer?”

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” Santana says, crossing her legs. “I didn’t get the satisfaction of killing him, so I certainly don’t want to take the fall for it.”

Rachel’s mouth drops open in surprise and Santana laughs, low and rough. “Honestly, Miss Berry, if you’d known him you would’ve wanted to kill him too. Anyway, there’s no way I can pretend I loved him,” Santana says brusquely, tapping out a cigarette. “I’m a rather... vocal person, and I’m afraid my dressing downs of Finn didn’t always happen in the privacy of our home. All of Los Angeles County knew of my distaste for the man.”

“Which, of course, makes you the police’s number one suspect,” Rachel says, watching the glow of a match illuminate Santana’s face in the dimly lit office.

Santana sighs. “The police lack imagination,” she says, taking a long pull on her cigarette, “and I am a woman who has always lived outside the lines.” She smiles at Rachel. “While we’re on the subject of transgressive women, Miss Berry, however did a pretty girl like you end up as a private eye?”

“You can call me Rachel,” she says, smiling down at her scotch. “And it was an accident, really. I came to L.A. to be a star. I wanted to be on the big screen, like Betty Grable or Ginger Rogers.” Rachel’s lip twist in a frown. “That didn’t work out, obviously. A close friend runs this agency, and when he offered to train me up and give me a position, I said yes. I wasn’t about to get stuck in a typing pool for the rest of my life,” she says indignantly.

“You sing _and_ dance _and_ act? You’re a regular Judy Garland,” Santana says with a smile, tapping the ash off the end of her cigarette.

“I wanted to be,” Rachel says with a shrug, “but some dreams don’t come true.” She takes another sip of scotch, hiding her frown against the lip of her glass.

“This friend who helped you out,” Santana says, taking a sip of her own drink, “would he be the ‘Hummel’ penciled on the door?”

“Kurt, yes,” Rachel says, nodding. “Why, do you know him?”

“I know _of_ him,” Santana says, the words coming out around a cloud of smoke. “I know that he has certain predilections...”

Rachel’s back stiffens. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, standing up from her chair abruptly and tightening her fingers around her glass. She thinks about Kurt, her best friend, and his lover, the sweet lounge singer with the slicked back hair, and how much trouble it could cause for them if Santana mentioned her suspicions to the wrong people. Rachel almost feels ill. “Anyway,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady, “even if you did know something, you don’t have any proof.”

Santana just laughs. “Calm down, Miss Garland. I wasn’t threatening you. I know about Kurt Hummel because we run in the same circles, and I have no intention of ratting him out.” She takes another drag on her cigarette. “Let’s just say that it’s not in my best interest to send the police poking around the clubs we frequent.”

Rachel’s mind is spinning, and it takes her a minute to puzzle out what Santana is implying. She takes a long sip of scotch before she speaks. “The person who was at your house when your husband died, the one you don’t want to expose to police questioning... it’s... _she’s_... your lover?”

Santana grinds her cigarette out in the ashtray before she looks back up at Rachel. “She’s one of them,” she says, utterly nonchalant. Rachel takes another gulp of scotch. “I’m telling you this now because you would’ve found out anyway, once you started asking around about me, and I’d rather you went into this investigation knowing the whole story.”

Rachel nods and drains her glass. Santana is watching her carefully. “This isn’t going to be a problem, is it?” she asks, her voice low and deadly serious.

“Of course not,” Rachel says, frowning. “My best friend is a homosexual. Why would it be a problem?”

“Well,” Santana says, rising out of her seat, “I’ve found that some women who don’t, ah, share my tastes, find it disconcerting to be around me.” Santana walks around to Rachel’s side of the desk and leans back against it. Her dress clings to her thighs obscenely and Rachel has to swallow a lump in her throat. “I’m glad to find that you’re so open-minded,” Santana says, passing her tongue over her red lips. “Progressive.” She leans in close, near enough that Rachel can smell the musk of her perfume and feel her breath against her neck.

“I’ll be happy to help you with your investigation,” Rachel says, fighting to keep her voice steady. Santana exhales, and a shiver runs down her back.

“Wonderful,” Santana says, pulling away. She walks to the door, and Rachel can’t help but turn and watch the sway of her hips in her sinfully tight dress. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon, Miss Garland,” Santana says with a feline smile, and she’s gone before Rachel can reply.

Rachel stares at the doorway for a long moment before she catches herself and groans. _I’m in so much trouble_ , she thinks, and doesn't hesitate to pour herself another glass of scotch.

**Author's Note:**

> this was inspired by a prompt i received on tumblr back in november, and i'm embarrassed to say that i no longer remember either the prompt itself or who gave it to me. OOPS. 
> 
> i'm not sure exactly how this story ends, but i'm pretty positive it involves santana shooting a cop and rachel taking the heat for it. sorry rach! you're definitely not a hard-boiled detective, so that makes you a dupe. for her part, santana is more of a matty walker than a phyllis dietrichson.


End file.
